


going at it the hard way

by VolxdoSioda



Series: Whumptober 2018 (Complete) [8]
Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Day 8 - Fever, Gen, Time Travel, Whumptober, magical torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-11
Updated: 2018-10-11
Packaged: 2019-07-29 10:44:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,742
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16262594
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VolxdoSioda/pseuds/VolxdoSioda
Summary: They've done this song and dance twice - so the third time must be the charm, right?Wrong. Very wrong.





	going at it the hard way

Never, in the entire list of complications from time travel, did the matter of magical maturity come up. In hindsight, Noctis is extremely irritated it's the one thing he didn't think of, because it  _would_  be the one thing that ended up giving him away. At the end of the day, he's a thirty-something year old man with the magical powers to match, so of course suddenly getting tossed back into his child body is going to fuck something over royally.

The something in question being  _him._

But he can’t exactly turn to his dad or the doctor and tell them what’s going to happen, that he can feel the slow, insidious burn of his too-strong magic working its way through him like a knife, or tell them that if he doesn’t go to Ardyn Izunia’s side right now he’s going to end up regretting it. Especially not that last part, because even if in this world Niflheim and Insomnia have reached an armistice, they’re still wary of each other. Any little move by one could offset the balance, and reignite the war. 

Noctis doesn’t want that, not when he needs to get this right. So even as the doctor chuckles and pats his head and tells him, “You’ll feel a bit rough for a while, but these pills I’m going to prescribe will take the edge off the worst of the symptoms. If you need more, feel free to come back,” he bites the inside of his cheek and tells himself  _you’ve been through worse._  

Because truly he has. At Costlemark, at Pitioss, at Zegnautus Keep. His old life was full of suffering, moments where he thought he’d die, but didn’t. This will just be one more for the road, one more moment he can look back at later and go _glad I survived that._

Even though deep inside, he knows otherwise. Knows that with how powerful his magic is, only Ardyn will be enough to combat it. Ardyn is the only one knowledgeable enough in the Healing arts, old enough, strong enough, to hold Noctis’ magic at bay and prevent it from choking him. 

It’s only a matter of time now.

 

0-0-0-0-0-0-0

 

By the end of the first day, the starter symptoms - fever, chills, dizziness, and drowsiness - have gone off the rails. He’s taken the pills, for all the good they’ve done, and he’s lain in bed and suffered as his head feels like it wants to explode and his body feels like he’s trapped in a blizzard of Shiva’s own making, his heart pounding too loudly, too hard in his chest, the room spinning on and on despite the fact that he’s stationary, and he almost feels like he could pass out and just...not wake up again. He’s wrapped himself in blankets, kicked them off again, wrapped himself back up, on and off. He’s dragged a trash can over by his bed, because he knows the next step is going to feel like wasting sickness, but a hundred times worse. 

And true to expectation, it is. He vomits and vomits and stays hunched over the can so long he half-expects to start throwing his own organs up. There’s blood, certainly, after the fifth or sixth time he rolls over in bed to stick his head in and unload nothing but saliva. The contractions hurt as well - his body is beginning to feel stiff, like he’s fallen asleep. The dizziness has morphed into a fever that’s searing, so hot Noctis is sure he could fry an egg on himself. 

He passes out sometime around dawn, but doesn’t sleep long. Ignis walks in to find his charged hunched over the trash can again, skin so pale he can make out every last vein on his face. His eyes are foggy, and he doesn’t respond to vocal cues. 

Ignis does the smart thing then. He drops everything, and goes running for medical.

It spirals down from there.

 

0-0-0-0-0-0-0

 

The doctors are understandably stumped. Because what Noctis is going through is like no magical maturity anyone has ever seen. No Lucis has ever been born with magic so wild and rampant that it has literally started tearing its charge apart, baking them from the inside out with the force of its fury. 

Regis is horrified when he hears. The doctors tell him they will try everything in their power, that there will be a solution, surely--

But even before they reach the middle of the second day, it becomes clear there is no solution. Not one they know of, anyway. Maybe in a thousand years there will be a way to transfer magic out of one person and into another, or fill it in a vessel while the person lies unconscious or in the middle of a raging fever so hot it’s cooking their brain and causing them to hallucinate. The Mega-Potions they’re feeding Noctis are barely holding back the heat, barely preventing him from dying frothing at the mouth. 

But die all the same he will. There is no fighting back against magic that’s tearing its owners body apart. Not even Regis can take as much as Noctis is putting out - he’s putting out the amount of magic Regis has now. And nobody else’s body would be able to withstand the strain. 

In short, there is nothing they can do but drug Noctis to the brim and let him fade as peaceful as possible. Devastation does not begin to cover the entire situation in Regis’ book. 

For the first time in years, he cries. He holds his son’s hand, hot and fevered and weak as the rest of him, and weeps. Tells him _I’m so proud of you Noctis, I love you son,_  and a thousand other confessions and stories of his birth - anything to distract his son in his final moments. Anything to bring something other than pain to mind.

They think that’s the end of it, that Noctis will go like that. Off in his head, or in the words brought by Regis as he holds his dying son. A beat, and then a faster fade. Almost peaceful.

He doesn’t.

Instead, there seems to be more still for the young Prince, as everyone within earshot awakens to the sounds of screaming - not the normal screaming either. The suffered, pitched, escalating screams of someone being tortured. Being  _broken_. Cor’s face goes waxy and white when he hears the sound, and Regis and Clarus both trip over each other trying to get to Noctis.

The drugs stop working. The magic has overpowered them, driven them out of Noctis’ system entirely - he’s suffering the full brunt of the maturation now. There’s no stopping it, or halting it, either. There’s gouges on his skin, deep and bloody, and a faint cracking sound like something bending under duress.  _Bones,_  Regis realizes with horror.  _His bones are snapping._

His son is effectively being tortured to death by his own magic, right up until the end. 

“Put a bullet in his fucking brain!” Cor roars, and gone is the calm face of the Crownsguard head. “End his misery, Regis! For fuck’s sake--”

 _“Dad,”_  Noctis whispers, hiccups, and then screams. “DAD!”

Regis falls to his knees, grabs Noctis’ hands, tears once more on his face. “Noctis, Noctis I’m here, I’m here--”

Noctis’ gaze is wandering, straying over the room like he’s looking for enemies. “G-get Ardyn, Dad. Get him.”

“Fuck,” Clarus whispers. He has one hand covering his mouth, his face turned away. Cor can see tears streaking down his face. Even the King’s Shield has been brought down in the face of Noctis’ torment.

“Noctis, Noctis baby, I’m--”

“Regis,” Noctis snaps, and everyone in the room snaps to attention at the snarl in the boy’s voice. His eyes are glowing purple, his face contorted in half-pain, half-fury. “This isn’t a discussion. Go to the Crystal. Order Ardyn here. I’m not ready to die yet, and certainly not baking in my own fucking entrails!”

“...is he lucid?” one of the nurses whispers. 

Noctis’ gaze darts to her. “You bet I fucking am! Now go get me Ardyn, Regis.”

“Noctis,” Regis says, as calmly as he can. “I don’t understand. Please, son, you’re not well--”

And then Noctis does something that removes any doubt from anyone’s mind that he is lucid, and aware, and that there is something much, much more to this maturity than originally suspected.

He grabs Regis by his tie, and hauls him up until they’re nose to nose. “ _Regis Lucis Caelum,_  I want you to listen to me, and I want you to listen well, because I’m only going to say this  _once_. After that, if you can’t follow orders, I’ll find someone who  _can_. Go to the Crystal, and say ‘I command the presence of Ardyn Lucis Caelum to this room in the name of the King of Lucis’. Tell him I’m calling in his favor to me if he asks. Don’t let him give you excuses. Tell him Noctis is in trouble, and send him here. If he won’t come willingly, beg. Demand. Order. I don’t care. But bring him to me. I’m not going to die, not after I’ve sacrificed and bled for this kingdom, only to see it slip out from between my fingers because of a magical maturity gone wrong.”

He shoves Regis back, Clarus darting forward as the man cries out from the force of the shove. 

“Now  _go_ ,” Noctis snarls, and then his expression twists deeper as the pain returns, and he’s writhing, hissing out breaths in a language as old as the Astrals.

Regis doesn’t think about  _what ifs_ or _maybes._  He recognizes that Noctis is in his right mind - and he has given a command. 

He all but runs to the Crystal, and spits out the words, “I command the presence of Ardyn Lucis Caelum to this room in the name of the King of Lucis!”

He doesn't expect anything. Certainly not for the Crystal to _ripple,_  and for Ardyn Izunia to suddenly stumble out, looking utterly shocked as he hits the ground hard.

"Goodness," Chancellor Izunia says, mild as milk. "That was a frightful pull." He dusts himself off, and stands, looking at Regis with a keen eye. "You would not have known to summon me unless someone told you," he says. "And unless you've gotten your hands on an Oracle recently, I'm guessing that someone is Noctis."

He means to say  _"Noctis needs help, and he entrusted me with your name."_

What comes out instead is "Noctis is dying, and none of the doctors know why. Please, help him."

Ardyn's mask drops immediately. "Move," he orders, and roughly shoves Clarus and Regis aside, sprinting for the doors. He's down in front of the hospital doors by the time Clarus and Regis reach the door, and the nurses and doctors are scrambling around him by the time they reach the ones he's thrown open.

Inside, it's chaos, but it's entirely centered around Noctis' bed. The doctors and nurses are giving Ardyn a wide berth as the man throws things, reaches for syringes and vials of liquid, all the while he sits astride Noctis’ chest, keeping him pinned. 

“You know, this would have been much easier to handle if you’d just called me, Noct!”

“Fuck you,” Noctis hisses. “I wasn’t going to fuck up the treaty.”

Ardyn takes the syringe out of his mouth and says, “To put it quite frankly my boy,  _fuck the treaty._  Your life is infinitely more important and more worthwhile than a silly little piece of paper we can get a copy of later. Hold this,” he orders a doctor, who hastily takes the vial offered.

“On the count of three,” Ardyn says. “One.”

And he promptly jabs the needle into Noctis’ side. Noctis screams, swatting at Ardyn, who knocks the arm down with a hand. 

 _“I’ll eat your godsdamned liver for breakfast, Izunia!”_ Noctis roars. 

Ardyn rolls his eyes. “I’d forgotten how dramatic you can get when you’re in pain. As much as I’d love the idea of letting you rip me apart again, I’m trying to save your life. So perhaps try to save the fits of rage for when you’re a little bigger and I’m not dosing you up to your pretty little head in pain-killers?”

He glances over, sees Regis standing there, completely out of his element. “Oh good, you’re here. Come here and put your palm over his chest. He’s going to need an infusion of family magics to keep him stable while his body grows.”

“What?” Regis says, because that’s the only thing he can say at this point. Well, that and, “Who are you?”

Ardyn sighs, and then looks at him and says. “Ardyn Lucis Caelum was my birth name, and right now I’m your son’s only chance at life. It takes an immortal King to hold the magic of another Immortal King, you see, or at least the magic of one who foolishly thought to try to change things by  _hopping through time_.” He raises his voice and looks over at Noctis as he says it.

Noctis cracks open an eye. He’s calmer, no longer screaming, but he’s still sweating furiously. “I won’t let them die for me again, Ardyn,” he croaks. “Not again.”

Ardyn clucks his tongue. “Sentimental little thing.” He strokes Noctis’ cheek with the backs of his fingers, and Noctis turns his head towards his touch with a sigh. “Long story short, your Majesty, what you have is a 30 year old man, give or take a few centuries, stuck in the body of a… what, ten year old? And his magic just isn’t having that. So it’s trying to get out the only way it can.”

Regis swallows hard. “And you’re… going to prevent that?”

“Yes. And before you ask the obvious question about that silly little  _thing_  the Draconian told you? We’ve been through that song and dance.”

“Twice,” Noctis groans. “No more.”

“Hush darling, I’m trying to tell a story here. But yes, we’ve done this twice. Both times Noctis played by the rules of your gods, and both times he was sent back because Bahamut is a stickler for perfection. So we both decided to handwave this round, and work more on fixing what can be fixed rather than breaking each other down. So you may consider me something of Noctis’ fairy godfather with a few additional perks. Like holding back his magic so his body can grow.”

As he’s been speaking, he’s been mixing something in a jar. Now he holds the jar to Noctis’ lips and says, “Alright love, time for the second part.”

Noctis groans. “It’s going to taste vile.”

“Don’t you mean  _vial?”_

Another groan, but Noctis turns his head towards the jar. “I hate you.”

“No you don’t. Easy now.” He helps Noctis get the entire mixture down, and when Noctis grimaces as he swallows the last drop, remarks, “Much easier now, don’t you think?”

“Nngh. Knock me out, please. I don’t want to be awake anymore.”

“Your wish is my command.” Ardyn’s hand blurs, and Noctis’ head lolls to the side. Ardyn swings himself off him, putting the empty jar aside. “Alright, the rest of you, shoo. I’ve work to do and no time to dawdle. All questions will be put off until later.”

“I’ll stay,” Regis says.

Ardyn snorts. “No, you shan’t, Majesty. I need a sterile environment to work with, and as much space as I can get. Trust me, you’ll not want to stay around to watch the fireworks, either. Your boy’s body is going to break bones and re-set them as his muscles grow and his skin flexes to fit all that in under 24 hours. If you’re lucky, he’ll be up by tomorrow morning. If. But in either case, it’s going to be at least a day for his body to finish the shift. And your stomach won’t hold up against it like mine will. I will give you updates throughout the day, if that is your wish, but you being here will do more harm than good. So out.”

And so Regis finds himself standing outside the great doors of the Citadel’s hospital, listening to the faint sounds of Ardyn Lucis Caelum puttering around inside, and feeling a great deal like he’s had the entire world dropped out from beneath him.

At least Clarus and Cor are in the same boat he is.


End file.
